


Beorn and the Shieldmaiden

by Saraleee



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A fanfic of a fanfic, Beorn gets a wife in this one, F/M, Original Female Character - Freeform, Pretty Bird AU, Rohirrim, Thorinsmut, beorn - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraleee/pseuds/Saraleee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beorn meets a young woman of Rohan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beorn and the Shieldmaiden

**Author's Note:**

> In "Pretty Bird" by Thorinsmut, skin-changer Nori talks to Beorn about how his skin-changing ancestors mated with dwarves (including those of the line of Durin) for centuries, while still preserving the special abilities of their line. The conversation gives Beorn something to think about--maybe he doesn't have to be the last of his kind.  
> Inspired by that lovely fic, I decided to write a story about how Beorn finds his mate.
> 
> Also, for this story I have created a new group of Rohirrim, a clan that lives in the mountain steppes and who have darker hair and skin tones than the more common Nordic-looking people of that nation. Because this story is set in the Pretty Bird AU already.

BEORN AND THE SHIELDMAIDEN

"Orcs? I hardly think so. In all the years I've traveled this caravan route I've never―"

"Guards! Do something! I've got an entire season's worth of merchandise here. I'll be ruined!"

 

.

 

The forest was silent and dark. Tears blurred her eyes as she crashed through the underbrush. Branches whipped her face and tore at her traveling dress. Her boots slipped on leaves and roots. By now, she couldn't see the camp fires of the caravan anymore. She didn't know this part of the Anduin Valley; she had never traveled this far from Rohan before.

She was the only creature in the forest making noise. Her breath came in deep despairing sobs. She staggered to a stop, bending over with her hands on her thighs, gasping for breath. With an effort she quieted her breathing, and the silence in the forest was complete.

 

.

 

"Go, Grimwyn. Run!" Her uncle drew his sword with one hand. With the other, he shoved her hard toward the silent black forest.

She staggered back a few steps, clutching at his arm. "No! I won't leave you!"

"Go!"

Instead of obeying, Grimwyn dove for her bedroll to search for her dagger.

 

.

 

The forest was quiet. Now that she'd stopped running she didn't know how to get back. Black shapes flittered around the dark trunks of trees. Squirrels? Birds? It was too dark to see. Then she heard a snuffling sound, a hound scenting its quarry. The harsh sounds of black speech followed. Her heart leaped into her throat. The wargs had her scent and they would run her down.

Desperately, she looked around. The trees grew tall in these woods, their lowest limbs too high for her to reach even if she'd thought to escape pursuit by climbing. A small stream flowed nearby and she splashed quickly up its narrow length, hoping the ankle-deep water would be enough to confuse the trail. She climbed over a hollow log, once the trunk of a mighty tree, which had fallen across the stream.

Suddenly, a huge roar rent the night, so loud and close her whole body jerked with fear. She fought to think, fought against the tide of terror that was threatening to sweep her away. _Hide hide hide._

 

.

 

A merchant from Gondor shouted, "Kill them, you fool! What am I paying you for?"

His question was never answered -- a bright fountain of blood erupted from the merchant's throat as an orc scimitar sheared through his neck.

Warm droplets spattered Grimwyn's face. She brandished her dagger.

Pointed teeth glinted in the firelight as a giant, pale-skinned orc grinned at her. He raised his scimitar again.

She ran.

 

.

 

_Hide hide hide._

Wargs bayed, crashing down the hill. A beast roared on her other side. She was trapped. There was no time to be squeamish, no time to think about creepy crawly things that might live inside the decaying wood. She gritted her teeth and crept inside, tucking her legs in close so she couldn't be seen.

She had only a second to hear the hiss and to feel the pain of the snake's bite on her arm. A shock, followed by a chill like ice-water, and then she felt nothing at all.

 

 

ooOOOoo

 

 

He pulled her out of the tree trunk by one limp wet ankle. Cold she was, her cinnamon-colored skin faded almost to gray and her long ebony hair tangled with leaves and bits of bark. Her forearm bore an ugly purple swelling, oval-shaped around the twin fang marks of the tree viper whose nest she had disturbed. She was near death, but maybe...

He carried her to his house and laid her in his bed. Carefully, he carved an "x" into the swelling on her arm and sucked out as much of the poison as he could. Then he whistled, and two big shaggy dogs trotted to his side. They cocked their heads, ears up inquiringly.

"Will you care for her?" he asked them.

Floki panted, long pink tongue lolling out of his mouth, while Rakki nudged the patient with her nose. They would do their best.

Satisfied, he nodded and went to talk to the ewes before heading back out on patrol.

The lands weren't as safe as they once were – orcs and their wargs roamed freely, taking vicious pleasure in attacking travelers and leaving none alive. She was lucky to have escaped.

For the others, Beorn would make sure their deaths were avenged.

 

.

 

Everything was ice, then everything was flame. Grimwyn was burning alive and an immense weight was crushing her chest, stifling her. She was weak, so weak. Something cold touched her cheek, and she whimpered.

She heard a doglike whine, and then a rough wet rag was dragged across her forehead. It lapped at her like a tongue. She pushed it away and opened her eyes. A pair of soulful brown eyes gazed back at her. It _was_ a tongue. A dog was licking her.

"What?" she muttered.

A second dog trotted up, tail wagging, carrying a small bucket by its curved handle. The bucket was placed close to her head. It held water. The first dog whined and nudged her again, apparently wanting her to drink.

She struggled to roll onto her side. She drank, and then rolled onto her back again, exhausted. She slept.

The next time she woke, her eyes opened more easily. She looked around. She was in a curtained niche that served both as bed and bedchamber, the heavy woolen curtain pulled back to reveal a simple and cozy home. But everything was just a bit too large. Big chairs, big table, big mugs.

The wooden pillars supporting the roof were beautifully carved, as if the carver had whiled away the long winter evenings working on them. Large beeswax candles, unlit at the moment, stood on the table. And wasn't that a chess set over there? It was constructed of mahogany and ash wood, each piece carved with care in the shape of various woodland animals: Eagles, bears, weasels, squirrels – and snakes. She shuddered, turning her attention to the hedgehogs that served as pawns. The carver knew and loved animals, she guessed, to render them so faithfully.

She addressed the dog closest to her. "Whose house is this?"

Then she shook her head at her foolishness. Dogs couldn't talk―except perhaps if they were wizard's dogs. She'd heard tales of uncanny creatures, animals or people who were under some sort of enchantment. But those were just fairy-stories. Her two canine companions seemed doggy enough, if very clever. They both seemed to understand her. Anyway, she was grateful to them.

"Thank you," she said gravely. The dog grinned canine-style, tail wagging.

That was reassuring. She hadn't been brought to the home of some wizard or other magical being. Still, whoever owned the house had saved her life. She was resting comfortably, her arm was bandaged in a way no dog could have managed, and she was out of danger. Someone had helped her.

The door opened, and a large figure slouched in.

Grimwyn stared, forgetting to breathe. He was a huge man – hulking, muscular, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest that tapered into powerful legs. A shaggy crest of hair covered his head, spreading into a bristling beard before merging into the thick pelt that ran down his spine. His face was stern, his nose broad and flat, and his dark round eyes glinting with feral intelligence. He moved with surprising grace for a man of his size, swinging his head from side to side and inhaling as if testing the air.

She almost thought he'd scented her first, the way he seemed to be following his nose as he turned in her direction. He ambled toward her, dark eyes intent.

She clutched at her blankets. "Who are you?"

He stopped several feet away and watched her warily. "When you are well enough, you shall return to your own kind." His voice was gruff and rusty, as if he rarely spoke.

"How long have I been here? What happened to my uncle? Did he – did anyone – " Her throat closed around a lump that had suddenly grown there.

He shook his head. "Rest now."

He turned away from her then, stroking the head of one of the dogs and making noises like growls and barks. The dog wagged its tail and trotted off.

She laid her head back on the pillow, and let the tears flow helplessly out of her eyes. She had run away, and they had all died.

 

 

OoOOOoo

 

 

Her name was Grimwyn, and she was a woman of Rohan.

Beorn knew the Rohirrim of old―not well, but well enough. Most of the people of Rohan, especially those that dwelt on the wide grasslands, were pale-skinned and yellow-haired, but a few of the clans in the high mountain reaches had skin the color of bronze and hair that was straight and black. She looked like them. Still, all of the Rohirrim had a deep respect for the horses that were their pride and joy. He had no quarrel with them.

She had been barely alive when he'd found her. He had already seen what the orcs had done to the rest of the people in the caravan – including another man with the same coppery skin and black hair she had. A relative of hers, perhaps. Beorn tracked and killed as many of the marauding orcs as he could, adding their crimes to the tally he kept in his head.

By the time he'd found her, he had had enough of death for one night. Perhaps she would live.

It was an irritation, though, having this helpless stranger in his house. He was accustomed to solitude. There was peace in living close to nature, his only companions the bees and the animals. She reminded him of people – of friends and kin now dead. It made him sad. Or to be precise, it made the human part of him sad. The bear was much simpler. The beast in him lived wholly in the present, moving from rage to ecstasy in the moment, and did not dwell on the joys or sorrows of the past.

She made him uneasy. Her presence in his home threatened the quiet routine of his days. On the other hand, it had been a long time since he had a human companion to talk to or play chess with. He wondered if she could play chess. He wondered how soon it would be, before she was healed enough to leave.

At first, she had been too weak to move. When she gained enough strength, she started asking questions, and she had wept at the answers. One day she had staggered to the door, intent on going back to the caravan's campsite. Beorn had stopped her.

"Don't be a fool. You are not strong enough," he had told her, putting her back to bed. She had wept some more, and had tried to leave twice more before she finally accepted that he had already dealt with the orcs that had attacked the caravan.

Her determination impressed him, but her stubbornness was annoying.

Not long afterward, he found out that she did play chess. When the shadows fell on the cool Spring afternoons, after his chores were finished and before he left for his patrol, she would sit in one of his large chairs, her feet dangling, and they would play a game or two. Her moves were often reckless and her strategy bold. Beorn won most of their games. On the rare occasions when she won, her delight at having bested him had been amusing.

It was good to see her spirit returning. The shadow of grief had not left her yet, but she was young. In time she would recover. The only bone of contention between them was his refusal to let her share in his nightly prowls, as he made sure no orcs dared to enter his lands.

At sundown each day he would leave to roam the countryside, to make sure all was safe. Every evening, he told her, "Be safe. Do not open the door, no matter what you hear. There is danger in the night – danger to you and to Floki and Rakki, and to the other creatures as well. Do not disobey."

Frowning mutinously, she demanded, "What about you? What of your own safety?"

"I am in no danger," he would reply. "Do not open the door."

With that, he would leave.

She argued with him every evening for a month. Did he think she was a coward? She was as brave as he. Did he think she had no training with a sword? If he would but give her a weapon, she could show him how a Shieldmaiden of Rohan defended herself. She was strong, she was ready, she could fight.

He still refused.

Shieldmaiden or not, Beorn knew that she would be no match for an orc. She was tall for a female of the race of Men, taller than most types of orcs, but it was clear she was not an experienced warrior. Besides, she was still not completely healed.

That wasn't the real danger, though. He could not easily find the words to tell her about the beast in him, so he decided she did not need to know. She would be leaving soon. Why should she carry tales of the last of the skin-changers to outsiders? As long as she stayed inside, she was safe.

And so was he.

As the long days of summer rolled past, Beorn and Grimwyn cared for the sheep and milked the cows, collected honey from the bees, and spent hours with the horses. He liked the warm animal scent of her, musky with a touch of woodsmoke. Soon he could see she had recovered her health. She walked with a spring in her step, her shoulders thrown back. Her long ebony hair shone in the sunlight and her brown skin glowed as she went about her chores. Sometimes she even sang a little as she worked, although she was not a boisterous person.

Her first attempt at mead-making ended in an explosion that coated everything – walls, floors, even Grimwyn – in sticky liquid. She had been outraged at the mess, her expression of fury and dismay was comical. Beorn had taken one look at her sorry, drenched figure and laughed, deep, full-bodied guffaws until he was bent over at the waist and gasping for breath. He helped her clean up, but the sweet, rank smell of mead lingered for days.

He never saw the trouble until it was too late.

 

.

 

The bear within him began to desire a mate.

It had crept up on him slowly. He hadn't noticed at first how his patrols had gotten more limited in scope – how he tended to stick closer to his home, even when he'd meant to search the farther reaches of his lands for signs of his enemies. Then he found his bear-self snuffling outside in the yard, tracking the familiar scent of the woman who was sleeping within.

Beorn violently rejected the idea. He was a skin-changer, Grimwyn was a human woman. She would never be his.

Moreover, she didn't know about his bear. She didn't know about the other side of him, the dark side and its painful and deadly history. The threat of Azog, the constant threat of orcs and wargs. If he told her the truth, she would never be safe. He could forgive himself for lying to her, but never for hurting her.

No, better to let her go. Safer for her.

He had planned to tell her over their chess game that evening, but somehow he never found the right moment to say the words.

 

.

 

Grimwyn knew she would have to leave Beorn's Hall when she was healed, but the peaceful days had flowed by so smoothly that she had forgotten to keep count. Still, she couldn't impose upon him forever. The huge silent man had sheltered her with the understanding that when she was well enough, she would go home. When she realized that that day had come, she was surprised at how reluctant she was to say goodbye.

His large size and calm strength were a bulwark against danger. He worked hard. On hot days, he threw off his homespun tunic to chop firewood, his powerful muscles bunching and sliding under his sweat-slick skin. Then he would drop into the huge chair he had carved for himself and down a chilled tankard of mead with a satisfied sigh and smacking of his lips.

He was gruff and tended to stay out of her way, except when she helped with the chores. Even then he rarely spoke. After two months, she knew the dogs Floki and Rakki better than she knew him―and the dogs couldn't talk.

With the creatures that shared his hall, Beorn was gentle and skillful. The bees hummed happily when he visited their hives, and although all of the other animals (especially the flock of ewes) meekly submitted to the despotic rule of the big coal-black ram, that formidable animal deferred to Beorn. For all his quiet and steady nature, Beorn was implacable. He was never angry, never impatient – but his mind, once made up, could not be changed. Immovable, relentless, and determined, he would never bend to any other being's will.

Sometimes they talked in the evening, during their chess-games. She told him about growing up in her high-mountain village when her parents were still alive―nothing recent, only pleasant memories from her past. In return, he would comment in his slow, rumbling voice on her risky chess moves or even tell her a brief story about some woodland creature he had known. Once or twice, he had even smiled, a surprisingly twinkly grin.

He never spoke of himself, or the family he must have had. She didn't ask. She could see he had known pain. He was marked with scars of past battles, and an old iron shackle still circled one wrist.

She didn't want to pry. But she resented his refusal to let her go with him on his nightly patrols, or to explain why she could not open the door. Big as he was, he went out there alone, with no one to help him if he were attacked by beasts, or worse, orcs. What if he needed her help? No doubt he thought she would be useless in a fight.

That must be the reason. He had judged her and found her wanting. He thought she was not strong enough―he'd refused to let her hunt down the orcs who had murdered her uncle and the rest of the trade caravan she had been traveling with. He insisted that she stay shut up in his Hall every night, ignoring her protests that she could help. He would not explain, but she knew why―because he thought she was not brave enough.

Late one summer night, after Beorn had left, she had heard a beast growling and scuffling at the door. Whatever it was, it was big―the great wooden door had creaked and groaned as the creature had pressed against it. Nearly sick with fear, Grimwyn pulled her blankets tight and curled herself into a ball.

When she told Beorn in the morning, he shrugged and told her not to worry.

Grimwyn stared at him for a long moment, then turned on her heel and left the Hall. Not worry? He had left her and she had done nothing but hide like a child under the blankets at the sound of that creature in the night. Only a few months earlier she had run and left her uncle to be slaughtered by orcs. A shieldmaiden ought to stand and fight.

She _could_ fight. She would prove it. It was time for her to return to Rohan, to her own people, and become the shieldmaiden she was meant to be.

 

.

 

At dinner, Grimwyn left her food untouched and stared into the flames of the hearthfire, gnawing at her underlip. She had to go. It had become too easy to depend on the big man's kindness, when kindness was not what she wanted. To him, she was just a stray, a lost and injured animal he had taken in for as long as it took her to heal. Well, she was healed now. It was past time for her to leave. She would have to find the words to tell him so.

When she looked up, Beorn was watching her. He said, “You are welcome to stay here. You do not have to go to Rohan.”

She steeled herself and shook her head. “I belong in Rohan, learning to be a shieldmaiden. Not cowering and running away. Not hiding safe in the house while other people risk themselves for me.”

She tried not to sound too defiant, watching him to see how he took her words.

He sighed and nodded. Getting up, he went to a cupboard and came back with something in his closed hand. He held it out to her. "This is for you."

Surprised, she stood, stretching out her hand, and he placed the object in it. Their fingers touched, making her insides flutter.

It was a medallion, a small wooden disc carved on one side with the image of a bear, strung on a necklace of knotted wool yarn. He must have carved it himself--it had the look of his work, smooth flowing lines in a stylized design. She let her fingers caress the polished wood, feeling the delicately incised curves that almost seemed alive in her hand. Her chest filled with warmth and she quickly swallowed to keep the tears out of her eyes. Maybe he didn't find her such a nuisance after all. She hung it around her neck, then smiled up at him.

He smiled back, his dark eyes warm, and let one hand drop onto her shoulder. "To remember me by."

She held his gift tight in one hand. Boldly, she rose up onto her tiptoes, resting her other hand on his chest for balance, and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

His cheek was warm under her lips, his heartbeat jumped beneath her palm. His breathing quickened, the harsh sound loud in the quiet room. She lowered herself down and looked into his eyes.

He looked hungry, his face filled with a longing so naked it pierced her to the core. The air felt hot around her, thick with danger and desire. Her heart sang. She could feel it, sense the pull between them, heady and thrilling. All her senses sharpened, sprang to life.

For a long moment, he made no move to kiss her back. He seemed to be waiting for some sign. She was not sure how to encourage him, how to tell him what she wanted. Impatiently, she arched into him, head tilted up, offering him her mouth.

He didn't move.

She felt her face heat up. “I want―kiss me?”

It was enough.

With a groan that was almost like a growl, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss, biting and licking, tasting her skin, nuzzling into her cheek and inhaling her scent as if it intoxicated him.

 

.

 

Beorn had held back, reined in the beast for so long. Now, when she was about to leave, when he was about to be free from his constant craving for her, he was closer than ever to breaking.

He handed her the medallion he had carved for her and concentrated on breathing steadily, on holding still to keep himself from howling.

She was going back to her people. She would be better off without him, and he would live without her. His mouth was dry, his tongue thick in his mouth. He thirsted for her but he would not give in. Not long now. He would endure whatever he must, for this could not be.

He needed to touch her, but a hug would be too risky. Instead, he patted her shoulder. Friendly, but safe.

Then she kissed him―the crackling shock racing along his nerve endings to jolt him deep in his gut. She stared up at him with a puzzled look before edging in closer, pressing her soft round breasts to his chest as she lifted her face and asked him to kiss her.

And he broke, aflame with thirst for her like he'd been lost in a desert. Her mouth was a sweet oasis, cooling him and setting him on fire at once. He wrapped his arms around her slender body, one hand sliding down her back to cup a soft buttock and dragging her in, rubbing his whole length against her as she shivered and sighed into his mouth.

He was well and truly trapped then, he knew it, but the beast was out of his control. She was tall, but still the difference in their heights made it uncomfortable to kiss standing up. He lifted her into his arms. She kept kissing him, trailing her parted lips over his cheek and down to his mouth as he carried her to his bed, laying her down on the mattress.

He slanted his body across hers, sitting with one hip resting on one side of her and his hand braced on the other. Tenderly lifting one long black lock of her hair, he tucked it behind her ear. She reached up and stroked his shoulders.

“You can lift me with one hand,” she murmured. “I dreamed about this, your hands all over me. Like this.”

She tucked her small hands under his homespun tunic and let her fingers glide over his chest, brushing her thumb over one hard nipple. He groaned, his back arching. So gentle and tender. It had been so very long since he'd been touched.

“I want you to do that,” she said. “To me.”

She picked up his hand and slipped it under the hem of her shirt. His fingers began moving on their own, stroking her soft skin, kneading the soft flesh so different from his own hard and scarred muscles. He looked into her eyes, asking permission for more, and she unbuttoned the shirt and drew it open for him.

He gazed at her beautiful breasts, then with a choked sound he lowered his face to rub his cheek against the velvety slopes and nuzzle the valley between, inhaling the fragrance of her. He held her shuddering body tight as he kissed his way to one dark brown nipple and suckled.

She moaned and lifted herself toward him, both her hands twined in his shaggy hair.

One small hand delved down into his trousers, stroked his cock. The sensation made him dizzy with lust, swamped with desire. He was so hard. This is what he had been waiting for, needing, always. But then, he would have to tell her that he was a bear. A beast who was not yet loyal to her. Unpredictable and dangerous, the bear could either love her or kill her.

No. He would not let her endanger herself, even if she wanted it.

He stopped, wrenched himself away, the most difficult thing he had ever done. “No. We cannot. Not unless you are staying here.”

She stroked him. “I am here tonight.”

He caressed her, his beautiful one, the source of his pleasure and agony. She was too reckless. “No.”

Before he could give in, he wrenched himself away and stumbled out the door into the night.

 

.

 

Alone in Beorn's bed, Grimwyn wept. She couldn't stay with him, he _knew_ she couldn't stay. Why had he denied them the pleasure they both wanted?

That night, the big animal came back.

This time she was ready. Her determination was hardened by her anger at herself. She would prove that she was brave enough to face it, no matter what Beorn thought of her abilities.

She grabbed a gnarled walking stick and flung open the door. Facing her was a giant black bear. She swung wildly with the stick and hit him over the muzzle. The huge creature reared back onto his hind legs with a bone-shaking roar.

The beast towered above her, an enraged mountain of fur with hideous sharp claws and deadly teeth, already surging forward to tear her apart. She fell back with a gasp.

Floki saved her, darting between her and the furious bear. The dog's sharp teeth bit into the beast's front paw. The bear roared again, dropping to all fours and lashing out at him with long claws. Grimwyn shrieked as Floki dodged aside. Floki's mate Rakki ran up to the bear and barked, leaping out of reach as the bear clawed at her, too.

"Floki, Rakki, inside!" Grimwyn yelled, bracing herself against the door. "Hurry!"

Both dogs scampered to safety. The bear crashed heavily against the door just as Grimwyn got it shut.

As the wooden door bucked and shivered under the beast's assault, Grimwyn slid to the floor, sobbing. She was worse than a coward. She was a fool.

Floki and Rakki thrust their cold noses into her face, nuzzling her. Tears kept falling from her eyes, and she brushed them away impatiently. She stroked their long, shaggy coats, checking to make sure they were not hurt and then hugging them both close when she discovered they weren't.

Her stupidity could have cost Floki his life.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Floki as she hugged him. She brushed more tears out of her eyes, off the end of her nose. Let her be thrown to the bear, let her suffer the consequences of her foolishness instead of endangering these brave and friendly dogs. "I'm sorry."

Floki slurped consolingly at her face. She wept more, knowing she didn't deserve his forgiveness.

With the dawn, Beorn returned. He looked tired, and bite mark on his hand as if he'd been attacked by a wild animal. Floki and Rakki ran up to him, whining and wagging their tails. Rakki licked at his injured hand as if she could heal it with her tongue.

He did not look at Grimwyn as he said, "It is time for you to return to your people."

She bowed her head, accepting her fate.

 

.

 

Beorn blamed himself. He should have sent Grimwyn away as soon as she had recovered from the snake bite.

She was a young and reckless woman. He was an old bear, and should have known better. He should have made her leave when he felt the bear's stirring desire.

When he was in bear-form, his animal instincts blotted out his human nature. If his bear-self had gotten to Grimwyn, it would have ended very badly. She had to leave. In time, the bear's desire for a mate would fade. He would be alone once more – the last of his kind.

The peaceful sparkle of the late summer sun did not lift the gloom he felt as they loaded provisions onto the stallion Fele, the largest of the horses and Grimwyn's special favorite.

 

.

 

Grimwyn knew it was her fault. There was nothing she could do about it except obey Beorn now, as she should have done before.

Floki and Rakki had nuzzled her and licked her face in farewell, showing that they had forgiven her. Beorn had stroked the dogs' heads, and nodded to the big coal-black ram and his flock of ewes, but otherwise he had been silent as they departed. He usually was silent, but now there was a horrible air of constraint between them.

They traveled for many leagues across the empty yellow grasslands, seeing no one. They did not speak. Grimwyn's mind was on fire with questions and self-blame. What had she done? She had attacked a ferocious beast—she had seen for herself how dangerous the bear was. Why had it even been there?

She looked up at Beorn, thinking about his broad flat nose, his dark and feral eyes, the thick hair that covered his body almost like an animal's pelt. The bite mark on the man's hand was in the same spot that Floki had bitten the giant bear's paw. It seemed impossible, and yet... she glanced at the big man again. Was he her protector or the one she should be protected from?

Or maybe he should be protected from her – Floki wouldn't have bitten the bear if she hadn't disobeyed Beorn's orders. She owed him so much, and this was what he got for befriending her.

That afternoon, they had reached a small hill topped by a line of standing stones. They were close to Rohan―Grimwyn was almost home. She couldn't leave like this. Not with so much unresolved between them.

When she looked at him, Beorn's gaze had slid away from hers.

They were about to part ways. Probably she would never see him again. This was her last chance to say anything, to let him know what she'd guessed. She said, “You are the bear.”

Beorn nodded. “A skin-changer. I am sorry I did not tell you.” He looked away. “There is much you do not know about me and my kind.”

She shook her head. “You were right not to trust me. Right not to tell me you were a skin-changer. I am not reliable. I disobeyed your order and opened the door. Floki and Rakki could have been hurt."

“You could have been hurt, too. The bear is not always predictable, and cannot be reasoned with.”

She stared at him, wanting to tell him that she would have stayed, if he had wanted her to. She wasn't afraid of being injured, but of being turned away. Of not being valued for what she could do.

At that moment, a troop of Rohirrim galloped like thunder over the hill. The leader saw the two of them and with a wave of his hand, the mounted troop wheeled around in a smooth arc. They stopped in front of the two of them.

The leader wore a steel helmet with a crest of horse-hair, and a nose guard shaped like a horse's head. He removed it to reveal a strong-featured face and blonde hair falling like an untamed mane down to his shoulders.

"What business do travelers have in this part of the Anduin valley?" the leader demanded.

Beorn tensed, his brows lowering and his fists clenching. Grimwyn stepped between the bear-man and the rider. "I am on my way to Rohan," she replied.

The leader glanced admiringly at Fele. The big stallion was an impressive sight even when he was just standing still, lazily flicking his long white tail against glossy black-and-white haunches. "Is that your mount?"

Beorn growled softly, a sound of displeasure that rumbled deep in his chest.

Quickly, Grimwyn said, "No. He goes with my friend. I will be traveling south alone."

The leader looked momentarily disappointed, but he cast it off and became businesslike. "My name is Ethelred, captain of this Eored. We are returning to Rohan after pursuing a band of orcs who attacked a homestead in our lands. You may travel with us."

Without waiting for her to agree, Ethelred looked over his shoulder. "Bring Osle." A black-coated mare was led forward.

Grimwyn looked up at Beorn. "Thank you," she said softly.

His expression stern, the bear-man gave her a single sharp nod.

She swung herself up into Osle's saddle, and the troop galloped off together. It took all her skill to stay balanced on the mare's back as she twisted to look over her shoulder but she did it.

Beorn stood on the small hill, watching her ride away.

 

 

ooOOOoo

 

 

In Rohan, Grimwyn joined Ethelred's Eored, earning a name for herself as a notable horsewoman and a ferocious fighter. People whispered that she was a true Shieldmaiden like the women warriors of old, wedded to her duty and unwilling to give up the sword and shield for marriage.

Several years passed.

Ethelred offered her marriage twice. She had turned him down, not ungently, and they had remained friends. But it was awkward, because she knew he hoped that she would eventually change her mind. She never would, but his friendship was important to her. So Grimwyn and Ethelred fought side by side, and drank ale when they were done, and each went home to a cold bed.

But deep in the night, when all was quiet, Grimwyn touched the wooden amulet around her neck. She loved Beorn―she knew that now. As a man, he had been her friend. She had thought the bear was her enemy, only to discover to late that he was her savior and protector. She had been her own enemy―her own ignorance and failure to understand. Now, when it was too late, she understood what she had lost.

On those nights, Grimwyn dreamed of lying down with a large man whose eyes were dark and whose arms were strong, and awakening safe in the embrace of a bear.

 

.

 

At Beorn's Hall, the days unspooled like fine woolen thread from a spindle. Ewes birthed lambs, horses grazed, and Beorn patrolled the perimeter of his lands, keeping all those within his borders safe. Sometimes in the evenings he would find himself gazing at the chessboard, at the empty seat across from his own. To distract himself, he spent his free time carving a new design into the back of his plain wooden chair. Making the twin bear heads match perfectly absorbed his attention for a whole long winter.

The gentle rhythm of life was interrupted only once. A wandering wizard (an acquaintance of Radagast's, or so he claimed) and his dwarven companions stumbled into his Hall, begging for protection from the orc pack on their heels. Beorn was not pleased by the commotion the dwarves caused – he didn't much like dwarves to begin with – but since they were being pursued by orcs, he grudgingly let them stay.

Surprisingly, one of the dwarves turned out to be a skin-changer. Beorn had never met a skin-changing dwarf before, and certainly not one who changed to a bird. Nori, he was called. Smaller and more lithe than his stocky, blocky companions, the avian skin-changer had explained that his kind had been mating with dwarves for generations and yet still produced skin-changers.

"Perhaps I should do this," Beorn mused, half to himself. "Find a strong daughter of Men who will have an old bear for her husband..." But there was only one woman he wanted. If she came back to him―if he were granted a second chance with her, he would give her anything within his power to bestow. He would promise her and her children safety from the likes of Azog. If what the dwarf skin-changer said was true, it was possible that together they could start a new line of skin-changers. A family of his own kind. He had not thought the line would run strong through generations.

He hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud until Nori answered him. "It seems to run well, at least in dwarves."

Beorn was surprised by the sharp stab of hope he felt. If she were to come back ... there were a lot of "ifs," but the possibility was there now.

 

 

ooOOOoo

 

 

They had been chasing this orc-pack for days. Grimwyn couldn't let them go – one of the pack members had been large and pale-skinned, like the orc she'd encountered at the caravan so many years before. The memory of that orc had awakened a fury that had gripped her and drove her on.

It wasn't the same orc that she'd escaped so long ago. It was a coincidence that this orc was pale, too. Once their Eored of riders had chased the orcs far enough away from Rohan's borders, she should have given up the chase. She knew all that—Eru knew Ethelred had told her that more than once—but she couldn't stop. These orcs would die, or she would never rest easy again.

When she saw the standing stones, she realized just how far north they'd come. She reined Osle in and looked around. A pang of longing stabbed her heart.

Beorn. This was where she had last seen him.

At that moment the orcs attacked, swarming out from behind hillocks and behind the big, slate-gray stones.

Her troop consisted of seasoned warriors, more than a match for the rabble of ragged, starving orcs. Orcs didn't fight in an organized way, they just flung themselves on their opponents with a desperation that bordered on frenzy. It made them dangerous, but the better-armed and better-protected Rohirrim generally had the advantage.

Grimwyn's eyes sought out their leader, that oddly pale-skinned orc, and spurred Osle toward him. This one didn't fight with the insane recklessness of a typical orc – when he saw her coming, he chuckled evilly and lifted a mace that had a clubbed end as big as her head.

She raised her sword.

 

.

 

Since the dwarves had come to his Hall, Beorn knew hope again. It was a foolish hope. He didn't even know where she was anymore, but he often found himself wandering out to the ridge of standing stones where they had parted. Where he had seen her for the last time.

On this particular afternoon, he was sitting on the grass with his back against one of the stones when he heard the clash of iron on steel, the unmistakable sounds of battle. Orcs against riders, just on the other side of the stones.

He stepped out of the shadow of the stones.

Then he saw her – Grimwyn, mounted on a black steed, her midnight hair flying behind her like a pennant, her bright sword raised high. So beautiful and fierce.

She was riding toward a large orc that stood waiting in the grass, his huge mace lifted, poised to sweep the rider from her saddle.

Beorn held his breath as she charged. Grimwyn's arm lifted high as she brandished her sword. The pale orc swung his mace, and she was swept off the horse's back.

No.

Beorn roared, the growl of his bear shattering enough to stop the battle as the combatants turned and stared.

 

.

 

A mighty roar split the air, and the rabble of orcs shrieked and gibbered. Grimwyn, dazed and breathless on the ground, looked up toward the sound. It was the bear.

Beorn.

The giant beast had risen up on his hind legs. With one powerful sweep of his arm, he flung aside several orcs. Their companions cowered back, but then seemed to rally their courage and ran toward the bear, weapons raised.

The bear swung its huge paw around with a roar, catching the closest orc full in the face, tearing and slashing, heedless of the blood that splattered everywhere. That orc dropped its crude scimitar and crumpled to the ground.

More orcs swarmed toward the beast. Reaching down, he picked up the limp body of the dead orc and threw it at the others. Then he whirled to grab two orcs who were sneaking up behind him, smashing their heads together with a sickening crunch.

Grimwyn struggled to her feet, taking advantage of the large pale orc's distraction to drive her sword up into its armpit. It roared and twisted back toward her, dragging her off balance. She stumbled and fell onto her back, and the deadly club thumped into the ground beside her. She rolled over and over, scrambling to get away.

The bear was destroying all the orcs within his reach. Grimwyn lost sight of him as she battled the pale orc. Nearby, her mare, Osle, trampled the fallen so they could not rise again. The fight became a confusion of images, blood and screams and terror. Soon all of the orcs lay dead or dying, including the large pale orc.

Among their bodies lay Beorn, a naked and bloodied Man. The bear was nowhere to be seen.

 

.

 

Beorn was badly wounded, but still breathing. Grimwyn bandaged the worst of his injuries, and with the help of some of the Rohirrim, managed to drape him over Osle's back.

"Who is he?" asked one of the riders. "Is he a sorcerer?"

She shook her head, then turned and addressed the riders as a group. "I know him. I will see him safe to his home. Return to Rohan, and do not worry about me."

She cut short their protests, saying that he had once saved her life, and that she was in his debt.

Ethelred pulled his mount up beside her as she prepared to take Beorn home. He stared down at her coldly. "Now I see how it is, Grimwyn. If you choose to aid a monster, then may Eru protect you."

He signaled to the troop to mount, and they rode away without a backward look.

 

.

 

She led Osle home to Beorn's Hall, with Beorn slumped across the mare's back. Rakki and Floki helped her move Beorn to his bed.

He had many wounds, both shallow and deep, and had lost a considerable amount of blood. She washed them clean and bandaged them as best she could, then trickled a small amount of water into his mouth. She was relieved when he swallowed a little.

On the next day, Beorn woke up.

She didn't realize it at first. It was morning, and she was mixing some porridge. The animals had been cared for, Floki and Rakki were out hunting for food. The familiar smells and sounds of Beorn's Hall were so sweet it was almost painful to her. The cows and sheep stabled close by, their stalls heaped with fresh hay and sweet alfalfa. The drone of bees soothed like a lullaby, punctuated by an occasional bovine snort. She sniffed and wiped the back of her sleeve over her leaky eyes.

She turned to Beorn and saw that his eyes were open. He was watching her.

She knelt beside the bed, sweeping one hand over his forehead and down to cradle his cheek. He was still hot to the touch, slightly feverish, she thought. "How do you feel?"

He shook his head slightly, brow furrowed in confusion.

"You were injured," she explained. "I brought you home. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. Now that you're awake, if you want me to go―" Her voice snagged on the lump that had risen in her throat.

He grabbed her hand. "Stay," he whispered.

She nodded, unable to speak. After a moment, he smiled and released her hand. He closed his eyes and sank back into a restless sleep.

She stayed beside him for a while longer, watching his chest rise and fall with his breath, relieved beyond words that he seemed to be improving. Her gaze wandered over his large form and up to his face. He looked peaceful, his brow smoothed by sleep, the firm lips relaxed. There were a few more lines on his forehead, a little more gray in the dark whiskers around his mouth, but that was the only change from the picture she'd held in her head all this time. The one face she longed to see every day.

But there was no telling if she'd be allowed that pleasure. She straightened up and brushed off her skirts.

 

.

 

Beorn came to full awareness lying on his familiar bed at home. The recent past was blurred. Then he put his hand to his ribs and felt bandages. Grimwyn. There had been an orc-pack. A fight.

He heard quick footsteps, then he caught her familiar wild-animal scent touched with woodsmoke. He inhaled it sharply, pierced by the sudden pleasure of knowing she was near. She had been gone for years, but now here she was.

She gave him one of her quiet smiles. "Finally. Rakki and Floki have been worried about you."

He smiled back at her, so filled with wonder and joy it felt like his heart would burst. She was back. But she had said Floki and Rakki were worried, not that _she_ had been worried. Did that mean she would not stay? Maybe she was only being kind and would be gone when he was on the mend. He didn't want to know, yet. Not if she was returning to her people. He scowled.

"Rakki and Floki should know better," he grumbled. "No reason to worry about me."

Her eyebrows went up. "I worried too."

That was a little better. He tried to shrug.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and caressed his cheek. He turned his face into her hand, nuzzling her cool soft palm, breathing in the scent of her. If he was only to have her for a short while, he was not going to hold himself back from enjoying whatever touches she was willing to give him. For as long as he could.

 

.

 

Was she brave, or was she still a coward?

Now that Grimwyn knew where she wanted to be, she wasn't sure if she was welcome to stay. Beorn healed quickly. Life had returned to the simple routine that she had known that first summer. They had fallen into the same quiet companionship that they'd had then.

Occasionally, she noticed Beorn watching her. But each time she moved toward him, he would turn away. Did he want her, or not? She was afraid to ask.

At first, not knowing had bothered her. Then it fretted her, chafed her until her heart was raw. Soon she felt that the pain of learning he no longer wanted her would be better than the agony of not being sure.

That evening, she stood in front of Beorn, her feet planted and her knuckles jammed against her hips. She glared at him.

He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised, chessboard in front of him forgotten. “What is it?” he rumbled.

"I have been here for several months now," she announced. "You are healed."

Beorn nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"Rakki has had her pups, and they are thriving," she went on. "The bees are fine. The ewes and their lambs are doing well. The ram is, well, the ram is as he usually is."

He nodded again.

She took a deep breath. "You do not need me here."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. She waited. The silence lengthened between them until she thought her heart would break.

In a very small voice, she asked, "Do you _want_ me here?"

His eyes opened wide and he drew in a breath. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes."

She flung herself at him, clutching at the neck of his tunic and pulling her face to his in a rough kiss. “Then let me stay with you.”

He gathered her tenderly into his huge arms, safe and warm. "I am an old bear, the last of my kind, and cannot offer you much beyond my heart and my promise to protect you with every ounce of my strength."

She felt the warm animal heat of him, the passion that he controlled so well, his thundering heartbeat matching the gallop of her own heart. With his touch, the ache of loneliness left her and the last lingering wounds were healed.

"You're all I want."

He buried his face in her hair, his deep, growling voice was muffled. "Then stay with me."

"Always," she said. She looked up into his dark eyes, saw him smiling at her. "With you, I am home."

His mouth closed over hers, sealing their promises.

 

.

 

The following Spring saw the birth of their son Grimbeorn. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he grew quickly. When he was one year old, Grimwyn found a bear-cub climbing out of his crib.

“Beorn!” she shrieked.

When the big man came running, she held the cub out to him. He watched as the tiny animal turned into his son.

Beorn fell to his knees and gathered them both into his arms. His family.

 

 

 

THE END

 

 


End file.
